Clock


'Twas September the first,
A date seemingly cursed....
Presently I wound back my clock
As the sun, the clouds did block.
That is what I thought.
Yes, 'twas what I sought.
But, strangely, when I looked,
Something seemed most crooked.
There were no clouds, no sky.
Not even the sun, looking down like an eye.
My heart stood still, as did the rest of me.
As I looked 'round the mill where I soundly be.
Looking down at the clock I held in my hands,
I heard in the distance, the marching of bands.
Disregarding the timepiece I followed the sound:
The piercing of drums and the horns ever bound.
Yet somehow I was guided, by fate or by doom,
Through the heavy wood areas, great but like a tomb.
When I reached my destination, revealing my adoration,
I felt strange about my immigration, seeing this great elation.
Then I had a sudden thought, as to my present situation
And suddenly something was caught, and and idea was in creation.
'Twas no longer the cursed September the first
And although I didn't believe at first, it would be the very worst,
It was now the late night, yes the late thirty first.
Of August, to my great fright, it truly was the very worst.

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